Only Time
by rcf1989
Summary: Brenda, a CIA operations officer goes undercover for fifteen years trying to track down and bring to justice one of the best thieves and con-women of their time, Sharon Raydor. Their game of cat and mouse brings them all over the globe, as enemies and even as partners from time to time, but how will their thrilling game come to an end? AU


**A/N. I rarely take prompts and this is one of those rare times in which I agreed, even if the only words were 'Art theft'. It was supposed to be only a oneshot but somehow I managed to come up with a very long elaborate story, so you guys decide if you want to blame or thank Olga for this :p**

**Now, in all seriousness, it is going to take time to write this story and put everything together so more than ever, please, be patient with me even if I'm already working on the first actual chapter. I am going to be doing research for each chapter - cultural references, technology, art pieces of any kind (and this means paintings, drawings, sculptures, jewelry, etching, and more and even things that may not be actual art from time to time) and their historical/cultural value to where the come from, security meassures and how to break them, cons to pull, etc. Just so you guys know this is going to be an elaborate process of research, writing and experimenting and putting things together - and probably a lot of scratching things out because they don't work the way I want. As much as I have more than 15 years to explore here - at least a chapter will be dated before that but you'll see why - so a lot of decissions will be made to make things work. **

**Take this chapter as a prologue of what is to come, or a teaser even. The first chapter will be set in the past, 15 years ago so don't freak out when that time comes. There may be time jumps as well, but you know, everything will lead to what you're about to read right now. And then we'll see what happens next.**

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It felt again as if the blood was in her hands, as if the con woman's death had been her fault. Six months had passed and Brenda still felt the same pang of guilt in her stomach, the same ache pulling at her heartstrings when she thought of her or dared to step a foot into a museum, knowing their cat and mouse game of fifteen years had come to an end. But if she had done nothing wrong, if she had been only doing her job, then why was she feeling as if she had been the on that had tampered with the brakes of Sharon's car during her last heist which ultimately led her to her fate six feet under?

Luckily for her, it was Sunday so she did not have to worry about work; her job had become dull since Sharon's death no matter how much she tried to deny that fact to anyone. She had no lead to follow to work with, so until she got more intel from DC, Brenda was simply stuck in her appartment in London with a black envelope sitting on the coffee table next to her half empty glass of Merlot mocking her. She found the envelope that morning when, like almost every week, she visited the grave of _that woman._Somehow it had become a habit, every week always trying to make time unless she had to be in another country working for another operation. It had her name written on white, her real name, a name she gave to no one ever since became an operations officer - no one knew her name was Brenda Leigh Johnson and yet whoever dropped this for her, by Sharon's headstone, clearly knew who she was and might just blown up her cover. And if that was the case, she knew she had to inform her superiors the following day the latest.

Huffing, she reached first for the glass to take another sip of the burgundy liquid and then for the envelope. She opened it carefully, trying not to break anything that could be inside as she knew at least an object was in there, it felt like a box but she was not sure. Quickly, she pulled the contents out in the couch in the empty space next to her and her suspicions were confirmed when a small black velvet box fell next to a letter. Brenda reached for the letter first and she could not believe her eyes, she knew that handwriting all too well, there was no chance she was mistaking it for someone else. She read the letter twice, if only to make sure the instructions given as much as the small explanation for the black box were real and not a figment of her imagination. And she chuckled when she read that within the box she'd find, folded, a receipt to prove that the object within the box had been obtained legally. Folding the letter, and placing it within the envelope, Brenda reached for the black velvet box and opened it, finding first the promised receipt and once she removed it she was facing a necklace - platinum with a single pink shaphire shaped as a tear drop. The chain was thin, and once she took it in her hand Brenda realized it was just as light as she thought, and without a second thought she fastened it around her neck. She felt the cool metal against her skin, making her reach to touch the tear shaped stone for a moment just as she checked the time on her watch, her eyes widening as she noticed that she barely had an hour to get to the meeting point, all while hoping it was not a trap.

As she got ready and hailed a cab, a memory came to her. It had taken her well over three years to ever see Sharon as more than just an art thief-con woman, and it all changed when an operation Brenda had been working on blown up in her face and to her surprise Sharon helped her to save her ass and to this day she still did not understand why had that happened, the thief could've walked away and leave her to die and yet she stood by her side. For three days, they became partners as they chased and were chased all over LA, and it all ended when, somehow, Sharon had been able to make them jump off the rooftop of a building with a harness and ropes; again, to this day, Brenda still wondered how that woman had been able to pull it off.

Her thoughts came to an end the moment the cab stopped, she could not allow herself to have any distractions. She paid the driver and stepped out, only five minutes to go before the meeting. And what a place for a metting, breaking into the TATE to make it happen and she was sure if her bosses heard of this they would not be pleased with this, but sometimes rules had to be broken and in Brenda's mind this was one of those times in which it had to happen. She walked as fast as her heels alowed her to into the museum, torch in hand as she walked through the empty rooms, her footsteps echoing throughout the building. She was getting exasperated, more certain as minutes passed that she had walked right into a trap and there was no turning back now. Until she found what she believed she was looking for, or she hoped she was looking for, in one of the galleries. Stepping forward, she found that only one of the paintings was illuminated dimly, even if she could also see the red painting of the wall. Brenda tried to read the small plaque to identify the painting to no avail, which made her dive head first into her black leather purse to find her reading glasses when a voice behind her startled her, making her drop the purse on the ground just as she was certain her heart skipped a beat or two.

"Ophelia, by Sir John Everett Millais."

Even in the dark Brenda could tell that woman had her almost pattented smirk on display. And yet her brain was screaming at her that it was impossible. She had seen the car after it crashed right before flames devoured it. She saw the remains of the body, nothing but burnt bones and they had only been able to ID the body because of dental records. She had been at the burial and mass. She was trying to make sense of this when she heard footsteps approaching, making her point with her flashlight around the room until she spotted her, and her eyes widened at the sight. That hat told her everything, it explained everything. The death was no death, it had been faked. And Brenda clearly remembered seeing a woman wearing the same exact black veiled hat at the burial.

"Why? Why did you do it? Why fake your death?" The questions were coming out of her as if she was firing them at the other woman. "For heaven's sake Sharon, you could have just… Disappeared or quit."

"Hello to you too," the coolness in which the woman was presenting herself was almost unnerving for Brenda, "and, simply, I had become too… Big. Too important, too famous. It was the best way to keep people from looking for me for years." A beat passed between them, "and I'm getting old for this."

"You're not… Old."

"Honey, I've been doing this for over thirty five years."

Brenda's eyes widened at that, as not even once she had considered Sharon to be that old or be a thief for such a long time with that career. Blinking she looked down for a moment, as if trying to spot her purse when in truth she was trying to put her thoughts in order when the other woman's voice made her look up.

"I see you liked the necklace," Sharon spoke with a warmer tone and Brenda was even more confused than before when she looked up, finding the woman closer to her than she had anticipated, "take it as both my apology for faking my death as much as a token for our anniversary."

"Anniversary? What are you talkin' about? And how did you pull it off? I mean, fakin' your death." The hint of a smile was dancing on the older woman's lips, a pair of lips that Brenda had suddenly become rather interested in.

"Everyone has a price and is willing to do anything for the right ammount." Sharon was not going to say more than that, at least not at the moment. "Today, fifteen years ago, was when we met. Face to face, in this very same room when I was about to steal Ophelia." Her attention turned to the small oil canvas before them, a painting she had been fascinating with for as long as she could remember. "Shakespeare was a favorite of the Victorians, and Ophelia is yet another case. Millais painted the background first and added her afterwards. The model was quite the favorite for the Pre Raphaelites, and I don't envy her; posing for four months in a tub of water with lights beneath to keep it warm, though it is known she got severly sick on one occasion."

"Four months?" Her tone carried the increduleness she felt upon knowing that fact. "Who would be willin' to spend four months like that?"

"Well, you spent fifteen years of your life chasing me, Brenda."

Her lips parted to speak but no sound came from her, she was shocked at how her own innocent question had been thrown back at her in a twisted way, but she should have expected that. She had learned that Sharon was the only one who had ever been able to challenge her in every possible way, which was exactly why she loved their cat and mouse game. Closing her mouth, her chocolate eyes locked with the light green orbs hidden beneath the black veil, A hand clad in black leather caressed her cheek making her eyelids flutter close, relishing the contact - which only increased as she felt their bodies pressed and Sharon's hot breath against her neck for a moment, before she spoke as then it was gracing her ear as the other woman whispered to her.

"I faked my death to get a fresh start, a new life. I've seen you for the past six months, visiting my grave, you have not moved on. You still go to the same places when you looked for me in London. Only you know why you have chased me for so long, and only you know why you came here alone and unarmed, you could turn me in today, the big hit of your career and retire, return to the States. And yet we both know you won't do that."

Brenda for once in a very long time was utterly speechless, but in her heart she knew _that woman_ was right in everything she had just said to her. And as much as she was demanding answers for Sharon's actions, the answers Sharon was seeking she was only looking for Brenda herself to accept them and decide what to do with her life. Unexpectedly, she felt Sharon's lips pressed against the corner of her own, making her blink rapidly as if to trying to catch up with what was going on while her mind was going a thousand miles per second when Sharon spoke again.

"The clock is ticking, and the choice is yours. Will you come to the dark side, dare to taste temptation, or remain in the lightest of greys as nothing but a cover?"


End file.
